Mamihlapinatapei
by AmberAnnh
Summary: A brief moment between Castiel and Dean Winchester. Sam POV.


Mamihlapinatapei: (Yahan, one of several indigenous languages of Tierra del Fuego) - The wordless yet meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something but are both reluctant to start.

Sam hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut as yet another prospective source of information turns out to be just another junk World of Warcraft fansite. He needs to take a break from researching (apparently, Google does _not_ index a whole lot about the Mother of All). The garish black and white checkered wallpaper in the motel lobby is starting to give him a headache, but it's the only place near the motel he can pick up free wi-fi. Looking back down at the screen, Sam feels another quick throb of pain behind his eyes. Ugh. He really can't face the prospect of starting all over right now.

Dean's back in their motel room right now introducing Cas to the "wonders" of _Dr. Sexy, M.D._ Cas had called just as they were divvying up research, saying he needed to make sure the sigils on their ribs were still holding up. Dean called bullshit, but let it slide when Sam gave him a look. I mean, Sam knows Dean has all the emotional empathy of a rock, but still... he thought it was pretty obvious that Cas just needed a break. It was almost like Dean was avoiding the angel on purpose. God, he hoped his brother wasn't being a dick to the angel right now. That'd be just what they need... Dean pissing off their most powerful ally against the Mother.

Sam huffs. Damage control duty sounds a lot more fun than hitting the wall with research right about now. He closes the laptop and heads back towards their room, holding his breath as he passes the greasy-haired guy working the front desk. He'd made the mistake of breathing in front of the guy on their way in, and he probably _still _has cologne residue in his lungs.

It's chilly outside, but not so much that Sam has to rush in order to avoid freezing his ass off on the way back to the room. He loiters for a minute by the Impala, watching the streetlights paint her exterior red, yellow, and green a few times before digging his room key out of his jacket pocket and stepping up to the door. Just as he's about to stick the key in the lock, he notices something.

The room is quiet. The motel doors are thin, just dense enough to keep out most of the weather, but he should be able to hear Dean and Cas talking, or the TV, or something.

Nope. Silence.

Sam knows that Dean might've dragged Cas out for a burger or something, but he'd have at least expected a text. Since he got his soul back, Dean didn't actively leave Sam behind a whole lot. With Cas around, Sam figures the odds of foul-play are slim-to-none, but better safe than sorry. Instead of charging in, Sam decides to do a little surveillance.

The vertical blinds aren't completely drawn (the drawstring broke when Dean tried closing them earlier, and they don't really stay shut on their own), so Sam peeks into the room. He can see the twin beds with their plaid green and blue covers, the rickety nightstand between them, and the screen of the TV, which is off.

Dean is sitting with his back up against the headboard of the bead nearest the TV, his bowed legs taking up two-thirds of the bed. On the remaining third sat the trench-coated angel, his body still facing the dead television screen, but his face turned towards Dean, who was staring right back.

For a moment, Sam figures he's just caught them in a moment of awkward silence, but no. They just keep looking at each other. Sam doesn't really want to be a peeping Tom, but he also doesn't want to barge in on… whatever this is, either. Just as he's getting uncomfortable, Dean shifts forward, moving to sit beside Cas.

With both their backs to him, Sam can't figure the nature of their conversation, but he can definitely tell that they're talking. Given that he still can't hear a word, Sam knows the two gruff-voiced men are just this side of whispering, but between Dean's fidgeting and Cas' occasional confused head-tilt (which is just as funny from behind, Sam decides) he can figure out who's speaking when.

Just as he's getting ready to call it quits, march inside, and figure out what's got his brother and the angel so serious, Cas reaches out a hand and lays it on Dean's shoulder. Dean's up and turned completely away from Cas like someone hit him with a cattle prod. Sam furrow his brow. Dean's major avoidance tactics only come into play when someone's pushing him about Sam or his feelings. He wonders if they're talking about _him_.

Cas stands, but doesn't crowd Dean. He just faces him and turns his palms out like he's offering an apology… or possibly asking a question. Dean turns back around, his face visible to Sam for the first time during the whole conversation. Sam doesn't have to be a lip-reader to understand the words _Because I love you_.

And what?

God, watching Dean try to talk about his feelings is like watching Helen Keller solve a Rubix Cube, only not as inspirational and way more confusing.

Sam's not one hundred percent sure, but he's pretty certain he just spied on his brother coming out to an angel. Sadly, this is not the strangest experience in Sam's life. Doesn't even make the top ten.

The last thing Sam sees before he turns away from the window (might as well do some more research in the lobby because he really isn't interested in seeing what happens next) is Dean and Cas standing just outside each other's space… like two magnets placed not quite close enough to one another to snap together.

Maybe they need a little nudge, Sam thinks, grinning.


End file.
